here to fill up on my blessings for
the week,” my mother used to say.
The more time we spent at church,
she reckoned, the more blessings
we accrued, like a Starbucks
Rewards Card.
Black church had one saving
grace. If I could make it to the third
or fourth hour I’d get to watch the
pastor cast demons out of people.
People possessed by demons would
start running up and down the
aisles like madmen, screaming in
tongues. The ushers would tackle
them, like bouncers at a club, and
hold them down for the pastor. The
pastor would grab their heads and